The Fourth Wall Between Us

“Rhys?” There’s a therapist on one side of a quaint, welcoming room strategically designed to illicit feelings of warmth and safety and a young man opposite to her.

“I would appreciate if you’d at least try and participate in this exercise with me. I know you don’t want to be here but I say we at least try and make an attempt at progressing the dialogue between us.” She speaks in a motherly tone. Legs crossed, notepad in her lap; glasses resting comfortably on her face. The man’s arms are crossed and he sits slouched on the left hand side of a couch and stared into some middle distance. “Why are you here today, Rhys?” She knows why though. She’s only trying to get him to talk.

Finally bridging the pen-drop silence, Rhys speaks up-barely more than a whisper, “Because I’m scared.” He’s finally looking at her now, no longer staring off. She gives Rhys nothing as he says this though, strategically composing herself. “Why not,” she prodded. Rhys’ eyes darted away in frustration again. “Why are you scared, Rhys?”

He’s difficult to talk to; at least for now while he’s so uncomfortable. When nervous, he picks at his nails as he could never really bite them. He was shaking his leg up and down as well, consumed by anxiety, “I no longer feel safe.” She lets Rhys’ words ring when he does speak to try to get him to keep talking. “Do you think you can verbalize why?”

Rhys’ frustration was becoming more visible and he was upset. “I hate this, you know? I’m not crazy but if I do verbalize it and I break it down it’ll sound crazy and you’ll just label me delusional and have me sent off or something.”

“You checked yourself in, Rhys. I don’t have to send you anywhere because you’re actively seeking help and I don’t consider you a threat to anyone’s safety.”

“Maybe you should?” He says this with his teeth grit and his eyes shooting back to meet hers.

She lets the pause wash over him before finally relieving him, “I don’t think threats would be in your best interest Rhys.”

He looks to regret saying it and his gaze breaks away again. Remorsefully, with his heart in his throat and shame in his voice, he responded, “I know I’m not well.”

Her face does shift after that. She hadn’t expected it really. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make himself vulnerable for anything. “Do you believe that? Or is that just based off of what other people say?”

His mind was racing and he skipped over her question in favor of his own. “Why do I think I’m crazy? Why don’t I believe it when I say it?”

“Perhaps its-“

“Do you know what you are?” He says this very nonchalant and his legs halt their movements, in complete contrast to the entire session before this. Rhys immediately understands his social blunder of interrupting her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off. I’m not trying to dominate the-”

She raises her hand, cutting him off and easing any fears, “It’s no trouble, Rhys.” His leg shaking resuming and middle distance stared into again, answering his question, “I know I’m your therapist. Does that count?”

Rhys smirks and meets her gaze again. “Do you wanna know?”

She smiles back and says, “Of course.”

Rhys’ smirk fades and vanishes though. “You’re exposition. Words on a page. You’re nothing.”

These words take the air out of the room; a shocking assertion that leaves her dazed. “Excuse me, Rhys?”

“You’re an expository device to be forgotten by the next chapter. You’ve been completely invented for the sole purpose of advancing the plot. You’re formless and you’re nothing.”

The smile on her face disappears too, returning to a professional shell. “Why do you think that, Rhys?

“That’s what I hate. I have no clue why. I just do. Which means that maybe I’m supposed to know it? For some reason I’m the only one who knows this intrinsic truth. It’s hard wired into my being. It defines who I Am.; but for what reason?” Rhys’ exterior no longer looks as defensive and anxious. He’s clearly relieved to be able to say it out loud. “You wanna know why it’s real to me?” Rhys was staring deep into her now; completely focused. “Because a delusion has to be contradicted by reality; and this isn’t contradicted. It’s true but only if you slow down, step back, and look at it. I know things that we just interpret as being so, but what for? Why are they so?”

The therapist’s formal exterior remains unflinching. “Sometimes things like social constructs exist and we simply have to accept them as true and-”

Cutting her off once again, he demands of her, “What’s your name?”

These words take the air out of the room and leave her breathless. Her eyes squint and her face flinches, a crack in her professional exterior. Rhys leans closer and raises his eyebrows a bit. Rushing to respond she shakily asks, “Ex- excuse me, Rhys?”

He breaks the eye contact between them and leans back. “My problem isn’t things existing unexplained, it’s the exact opposite. Why don’t certain things exist?” Scratching his head and ruffling his hair, he looks back toward her eyes. “Your name. What is it?”

Her professional control is falling apart now. “I- Pardon me, Rhys, I’m having a hard time understanding.”

“How’d this conversation start?”

“You-um. You sat down on the couch and-“

“No I didn’t.”

“What? No. I remember you were…”

“You said my name, but how’d we get here? You don’t remember. Why don’t you remember? Tell me your name.”

Her eyes were wide now; filled with fear. “Rhys, I do not feel comfortable anymore, perhaps it’s time we-“

“I have these answers. I was given them. That’s why I’m scared. I know what’s going on because I’m supposed to. That’s the prompt. I can only assume you’ve been fabricated for this exact encounter-to move the plot along. There’s a design to it.”

           Finally, she breaks the eye contact between them. Rhys had won control of the room. Shaking and terrified, she begs him, “Alright, Rhys. What does all of this mean then?”

Rhys leans forward once again, meeting her gaze. “This is just a story. I’m sorry, but none of this is real. What do you look like? Where are we?” Words ringing he asks again, “What’s your name?”

She’s crying now. Tears are running off her chin. Rhys is filled with remorse now. But now she understands. “I-I don’t know.” She’s not too far from her breathing stopping at this point; bordering the very edge of a panic attack it would seem. Rhys lets her stoop for a brief moment. She sniffs and wipes her eyes dry and red before staring into the middle distance she’d seen Rhys’ gaze go to before asking, “Now what?”

Rhys’ face tightened and he shut his eyes. “I couldn’t tell you” Tears began to flood from his closed eyes. “The way I’ve seen it so far, this is exactly what’s supposed to happen. I’m supposed to know what we are. I’m supposed to tell you this. I’m supposed to contemplate this. None of these words are our own. We’re just not real. I think it’s just a fucking paradox to think and mull over and we’re just trapped. Some shitty short story I suppose.”

They sit in the room for quite some time; in silence. Both battered, beaten, broken. Emotionally destroyed it would seem. But self-aware and exposed to the frightening world they’re forced to inhabit.

Rhys opens his eyes and looks to the lost therapist. “I’m so sorry. But this is all there is.”